


Frights and Feelings

by jamgrl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Scary Movies, Sort Of, Spooky, Story within a Story, cozy couch time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl
Summary: When the mysterious woman welcomed her out of the rain and into her ornate home, Miss Angel of Eastgate Manor couldn’t help but feel unnerved. And dazzled.---Aziraphale probably should have thought better than to choose a scary movie. But it had seemed appropriate for a Halloween night with a friend. A best friend.The friend she was hopelessly in love with.None of this was a good idea.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	Frights and Feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sk3tch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sk3tch/gifts).



> For Sk3tch for the prompts “watching scary movies” and “something soft and warm and cosy”
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [madeofmydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofmydreams)!
> 
> Rated Teen for innuendo.

_Thunder cracked and lightning brightened the sky just long enough to expose the dark vine covered mansion at the top of the long, steep drive. A young woman saw a gate at the bottom of the drive, tall wrought iron terminating in sharp spades, large and majestic. It looked like a gate belonging to an aristocrat. The woman ran to the gate, careful not to trip over her skirts, relief filling her lungs. She hoped she could open the gate, find help at the mansion’s door._

_It occurred to her that, covered in mud and soaked through as she was, grass stains lining the bottoms of her petticoats, she looked like a pauper. No respectable gentleman or lady would let her through the front door._

_But perhaps she would be recognized! She was well known in this part of the country, afterall, as the daughter of a very respectable gentleman. Perhaps traipsing through the woods was not what a respectable lady would do, but how was she to have known that the weather would turn so quickly?_

_The gate was unlocked. It creaked as she pushed it open. She gathered her skirts as she began the journey up the slippery way, bracing against the slicing cold of the sideways streaks of rain._

_This was not an estate she was familiar with. Odd, as she’d thought she’d explored all of this part of Devonshire. Surely she’d met the residents at some dinner or other. She wondered about who the residents could be as she approached the looming house._

_It wasn’t until she found herself closer to the house than the gate that she realized there was no light emanating from the building. It certainly wasn’t too late for someone to be awake. The lady had set out on her walk not long ago. It had been before dinner! She was confident the intense darkness was due to cloud cover rather than a setting sun._

_The lady’s stomach grumbled as she remembered the warm meal waiting for her at her own family’s estate. Could the sun have already set? She picked up her pace. If the residents of this house were respectable, they would invite her to dinner._

_The door was oversized with a large ornate knocker. The lady lifted the knocker with both hands. It was heavy, perhaps made of stone._

_When she let the knocker fall, the force of it made the door open on its own with a loud screech. Only darkness spilled from the hall beyond the door. No one was there to greet the lady. She wondered if the manor was closed up. She stepped over the entrance, trying to escape from the rain, and shivered as she felt the wet cotton of her clothes cling to her gooseflesh laden skin. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms for warmth._

_“Hello?” the lady called, the sound of her own voice reverberating off of the cathedral like walls. There was no answer. The lady stepped further into the house, wondering where the servants were who could help her. She jumped as thunder cracked, startling her. She shook off her silly fear. “I am Miss Angel of Eastgate Manor,” she tried, speaking to the empty hall. “Just a few miles down from here. I was on a walk and became rather lost. I was hoping the gentleman or lady of this house may be of assistance?”_

_“Welcome Miss Angel,” said a woman’s voice, from further inside the house, but Miss Angel couldn’t see the owner. Another bolt of lighting let light spill in through the still open door, and a tall and thin dark hooded figure was revealed for only a second._

Aziraphale heard herself scream before she realized it was happening. Crowley grabbed the bowl of popcorn before Aziraphale tossed it to the floor in fear. Crowley was cackling.

“It’s only a movie,” she said, amusement dancing on her face. She was beautiful even in the flickering light of the television screen.

Aziraphale shook herself, reminding herself of where she was, of the safety of Crowley’s living room. “Yes, you’re right. Very silly of me. Sorry for screaming.”

“‘S alright. It was cute.” Crowley popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth, eyes teasing.

Aziraphale huffed, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a blush. Embarrassing herself in front of Crowley was the last thing she wanted out of this night. “I’m going to go check on the candy bowl,” she said primly. “Make sure no one has stolen it. You have extra candy somewhere, don’t you?”

“Yeah, in the cabinet by the fridge,” Crowley said through a mouth full of popcorn.

Aziraphale stood and swept the popcorn crumbs from herself. Frightening music was still emanating from Crowley’s fancy surround sound speaker system. “Could you pause it?” 

“We don’t have to watch this,” Crowley said as she paused the movie, some actual concern in her voice. “If you really are scared.”

“I’m not scared. It was a silly, involuntary reaction. It’s Halloween, isn’t it? And it was my idea to watch this, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, sure, but we can change our plans.”

“No,” Aziraphale said firmly. She turned and left the living room of the little house before Crowley could say anything more on the subject. 

When she got to the kitchen, out of Crowley’s line of sight, Aziraphale closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, her hands in fists at her side. 

When Crowley had invited Aziraphale over for a Halloween movie night, of _course_ she had jumped at the opportunity. Why wouldn’t she want to spend time with her good friend? Her _best_ friend? The friend Aziraphale was desperately and hopelessly in love with, but who she was certain didn’t return her feelings. Aziraphale buried her face in her hands. This was so _stupid._

_Pull it together, Aziraphale. You are just two friends enjoying a movie together on Halloween! Nothing romantic about that! Just grab the candy out of the cabinet and refill the bowl sitting on the porch for the trick-or-treaters._

Aziraphale opened the cabinet and found the assorted bag of fun sized candies.

“Hey, what do you think about mulled wine?” Crowley was in the doorway, looking as beautiful as ever, of course, even in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Aziraphale hadn’t gotten the memo that this was so casual. She’d worn her full Halloween getup: dress with printed pumpkins, ghost earrings, tights with black cats, her curls neatly held back by a striped orange and black headband with a bow.

“Mulled wine?” Aziraphale asked dumbly, the bag of candy clutched in her hands.

“Yeah, you know. Red wine heated and spiced. It’s all fall-y.” Crowley fluttered her hand in explanation. 

“Oh. Yes. Sounds lovely.”

“Great.” Crowley pulled out a bottle of wine from a cabinet and started rifling through the spice drawer. Aziraphale busied herself with going out to the front porch.

She tore the bag and filled the nearly empty bowl. She hadn’t heard a lot of activity outside, and even now, Crowley’s street wasn’t too busy, but you could never expect anyone to actually heed the “take only one” sign. 

Aziraphale looked up and down the street. It was fairly well lit with street and porch lights, and there was a smattering of costumed families walking about. The darkness still sent a chill down Aziraphale’s spine. Maybe a scary movie _wasn’t_ the right choice. But Aziraphale wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Not to Crowley.

She collected herself and returned inside.

Crowley was standing over the pot of wine she was heating and stirring with a wooden spoon, spices neatly arranged on the counter: cloves, cinnamon sticks, star anise. Aziraphale couldn’t help it. She snuck behind Crowley to take a look over her shoulder, see if she could get a whiff. Instead she only smelled Crowley’s floral shampoo. It was far too tantalizing.

Crowley chuckled. “Patience. It takes a while, you know, for all the spices to be absorbed or whatever.”

“You’ve made it before?”

Crowley shrugged casually. “Once or twice.” Aziraphale didn’t believe that. She thought maybe Crowley had made it quite a bit. That maybe she had tried different measurements of spices, different wines, trying and retrying it until she got it perfect. Everything she ever cooked for Aziraphale was always simply scrumptious, a labor of love. Crowley loved working in the kitchen, making new dishes and things, but she never admitted it, always acting like some delicious food she’d made had appeared by accident. She never wanted anyone to know she cared about anything.

Aziraphale stepped back, smoothing her dress, remembering to be embarrassed of having stood so close. “How long, do you think?”

“I’d say at least an hour. Just to really get the flavor in.”

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Here. Have a taste now, and then when you taste it later, you’ll really be able to tell the difference.” Crowley scooped a bit of wine with the wooden spoon and held it out. Aziraphale touched her lips to the outstretched spoon, sipping the still cold wine and trying not to think about how intimate this was. 

Crowley grinned as she put the spoon down and set the lid on the pot. “I just need to bring this to a boil then let it simmer. You can wait for me on the couch.”

Aziraphale returned to the couch and tried to firmly put away her feelings. There was no place for them. She picked up the popcorn and started munching on it just to give herself something to do.

Crowley re-entered the room and slid onto the couch with her. Aziraphale ignored how she lounged in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, arms and legs akimbo. She watched only the television, waited for Crowley to press play. The flickering light of the black and white film drew her black in.

_The dark figure emerged from the shadows to meet Miss Angel. Miss Angel didn’t know her, but she was elegant. Surely an accomplished lady. Dressed in a severe black dress with a high collar and pointed long sleeves. She looked a bit like a stern boarding school teacher, her hair in a tight bun, only her dress looked a bit too expensive for such a trade. Hadn't she been wearing a cloak before? Where could it have gone? Must have been a trick of the light._

_The lady's eyes scanned Miss Angel slowly and she couldn’t help but feel a bit unnerved. She felt aware of her strands of hair sticking to her face and the water puddling around her._

_“I’m glad you sought shelter,” the lady drawled. “Had you remained out there, surely you would have caught your death.” She lingered on the word ‘death’. Miss Angel shivered. “Come, let’s see to it that you have dry clothes to change into.” The lady turned, and Miss Angel assumed she was to follow. She expected to be turned over to a maid, but the lady of the house continued walking, leading her up a staircase and presumably to the guest quarters of the fine house. Maybe this_ was _the maid, Miss Angel considered, and the people of the house so rich that even the maids dressed like ladies._

_They reached a large ornate bedroom, a fire already flickering in the hearth. Odd, Miss Angel thought. Surely she hadn’t been expected._

_“I’m afraid I have no one to wait on you,” Miss Angel’s guide said. “I have only the cook working tonight. But surely you can do well on your own for one night? Check the wardrobe. I think there may be something there that could be suited to you. When you are ready, join me in the parlor to await dinner.” The lady, because Miss Angel was certain again that a lady was what she was, turned on her heels and disappeared, her footsteps echoing ominously as they traveled down the hall._

_Alone, Miss Angel peeled off the layers of wet clothing and stood before the hearth, letting it return some warmth to her skin. She took a turn about the room, searching for something to dry her hair with. The wardrobe promised a cloth with which to wring her hair._

_Once sufficiently dry, Miss Angel explored the offerings of the wardrobe. She hadn’t expected to find something to her size or taste, but mysteriously, there was a dress that looked like it was made for her. Pastel and covered in frills, it was several decades out of fashion, but Miss Angel loved it. It looked like the kind of dress that would have gotten a lady in trouble in the wrong place during the French revolution. It felt wrong to put it on. But there didn’t seem to be anything else that would fit her, and she couldn’t very well arrive to dinner unclothed._

_Miss Angel stepped into the dress and pulled the sleeves over her arms. She found it impossible to tie the ribbons at the back of the dress for herself. Was there really no one working in this massive estate who could help her? She was too hungry to pay too much mind to propriety. She left the room and descended the stairs, the bodice of her dress undone. She pressed the fabric to her chest, planning to demand someone correct it._

_There was no sign of anyone anywhere. Only the lady of the house, waiting in the parlor, standing stoically and gazing into the fire, her hands clasped at her back. Miss Angel suddenly realized she didn’t know the name of her hostess._

_“Everything to your liking, Miss Angel?” the lady asked, apparently sensing her presence near the doorway, though she hadn’t announced herself and the lady hadn’t looked up from the fire._

_“I have a problem, actually,” Miss Angel informed stubbornly. The lady turned on her heel to set her sharp eyes on Miss Angel and the rest of her complaint died on her lips. It was awfully rude of her, she realized, to think of complaining at this lady’s generosity._

_“I see,” the lady said, her gaze falling to the garment. “Allow me.” The lady didn’t wait for a response. Miss Angel found herself turned around in the center of the room, holding her breath as the lady’s skillful and delicate fingers tied ribbons up her back. She felt nervous and on edge. There was something very strange about this place, and this night, and this woman. And yet, she couldn’t help but be dazzled. The ribbons tightened, the lady’s hands didn’t leave, instead alighting softly on the dips of her waist..._

“Is it just me, or is this pretty gay?”

“ _Crowley!”_

“What? I’m into it.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, picking at the popcorn restlessly. “Don’t tease. It’s unbecoming.”

“What do you mean tease? I’m not teasing. I’m serious.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You know, I don’t like it when you say things like that. It’s unfair to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because I actually am.” Aziraphale huffed. “ _You know_.”

Crowley paused the movie, sitting up and pulling her feet under herself to face Aziraphale. She took the popcorn bowl out of her hands and placed it on the coffee table. Aziraphale didn’t look at her, staring straight ahead at the paused movie, her face hot. Whether in anger or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. The frame the movie was frozen on was comical, the protagonist’s eyes half open, the vampire’s fangs only partially revealed. It was a sensual position, Aziraphale had to admit, the vampire’s hands on the woman’s waist, the woman’s neck exposed, her head arched away in fear. Or in the ecstasy of a lover’s embrace. Aziraphale closed her eyes and tried to collect her breathing again.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “You do know that I am also. _You know._ ”

“No.” Aziraphale’s eyes shot open. The teasing was bad enough. “I know all of your ex-boyfriends, all the worthless men you’ve strung along.”

“Hey! _Danny’s_ not worthless. He’s very-” She started smiling dopily, looking past Aziraphale. “ _Attentive_. And Mike? Have you seen that guy shirtless? If I could get them together somehow…” Crowley was apparently getting lost in a dirty fantasy and Aziraphale had had enough. 

“You see!”

“No,” Crowley said indignantly, snapping back to attention. “I don’t see anything.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh. _Oh._ No, no, no! Aziraphale, I-” She sighed. “I’m flexible.”

“Flexible?” Aziraphale repeated, her brain whirring.

“Yup,” Crowley said shortly, her mouth a thin line as she waited for Aziraphale to catch up.

“You’re, ah.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Bisexual?” she squeaked.

“Or pan. Either works, really.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s heartbeat picked up. She looked at her knees. She felt particularly stupid, not having picked up on something like that for all these years. She wondered what else she hadn’t picked up on. “Is there anyone, ah. Anyone in particular, I mean. Other than the men…?”

“There’s this one girl.” Aziraphale could see from the corner of her eye that Crowley was smiling slyly, leaning against the couch back. Her arm rested on the back of the couch, close enough to raise the hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “I’ve known her a while. God, six years I think. I’m always flirting with her, but she never, ever flirts back. She’s pretty smart, so I didn’t think she was interested. I keep doing it anyways, because I like teasing her. And maybe because I can’t help it. But I’ve recently stumbled onto some new information that leads me to believe that maybe she’s dumber than I thought.”

Aziraphale turned to look directly at Crowley’s face and Crowley flushed scarlet, her smile vanishing. “I didn’t mean that! I mean.” She straightened and looked into her lap, where she clasped her hands, thumbs twiddling. “She’s too good for me, actually. This girl. So it’s really pretty silly to even-”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale interrupted. Crowley shut up, but didn’t raise her eyes. Her thumbs were still twiddling restlessly. “Are you talking about me?”

“I’m not talking about anything. Just being stupid, really. Forget it. Anyways, I think the wine is, you know. Mulled. Gonna go check on that.” She scrambled up, tripping over the coffee table as she escaped to the kitchen. 

Aziraphale took a moment to get her bearings. Was it possible? Aziraphale really was dumb, wasn’t she? Her heart filled with a fluttering hope.

She followed after her. Crowley hadn’t gone near the pot of wine. Instead, she was curled over the kitchen island, her head in her hands.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale tried again gently.

Crowley started, quickly standing and spinning to face Aziraphale. She leaned back on the counter, but her body was rigid. “Hey,” she said, eyes wide.

“Hey.” Aziraphale’s voice felt flimsy. There was a moment of tense silence while she tried to think of something to say. She desperately wanted to tell Crowley how she felt, but words were failing her. The longer she waited, the more she could feel her chance slipping away.

“Don’t go,” Crowley pleaded softly. “I’m sorry for saying all that stupid stuff. I won’t say anything else, you know, suggestive or whatever. Just.” She looked away, tapping the heel of her hand on the counter where she was gripping tightly. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not going to leave.”

Crowley looked up, her eyes guarded. Aziraphale didn’t think she had ever seen her looking so vulnerable. Vulnerability looked good on her.

“I hope that you _were_ talking about me.” It was as if someone else had taken control of Aziraphale’s mouth. Someone honest and brave. Words started spilling out. “I would be quite happy to know that you, well.” She started wringing her hands, looking past Crowley rather than dare to watch her reaction. “I have feelings of my own, you know. I’m not sure when they started. Goodness, it’s been at least a year. Maybe two. A long time. How long have we known each other? Probably that long, honestly. Has it really been six years? Anyways, it’s been distressing me for a while. I debated whether I should come tonight, being so hopelessly lost to you, but I just couldn’t seem to stay away.” She paused. “What are you doing?” 

Crowley had crossed towards Aziraphale purposefully, a fire in her eyes. Aziraphale was frozen in shock as Crowley grabbed her face. She stopped breathing when their lips met. Her brain was whirring even faster now, there was a buzzing in her ears. Her body was too overstimulated for her to even notice how long the kiss lasted. 

“I was talking about you,” Crowley said, when she pulled away and they each caught their breath. “I have feelings for you.”

“Ah. Good. That’s good.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale gazed at Crowley, dazed. “Yeah.”

“So.”

“So.” Aziraphale didn’t have enough remaining brain function, apparently, to do anything but parrot back Crowley’s words.

“Now what?”

She managed to find some semblance of intelligent thought. “We can always, um. Finish the movie?”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah, alright.”

They were turning to leave for the living room when Aziraphale remembered why they were in the kitchen in the first place. “What about the wine?”

“It’s not ready yet.”

Aziraphale glanced at the pot longingly. “Oh, but it smells so divine! And you just said-”

“Yeah, well. I’m a pathological liar, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale cracked a smile. “You never lie.”

Surprisingly, Crowley didn’t argue. She blushed and tried to turn Aziraphale by the shoulders towards the kitchen door. “I just want it to be right, okay?” she muttered. 

Aziraphale allowed herself to be guided back to the couch, but she continued to protest. “I’m sure it's just fine right now. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“My house, my rules,” Crowley said firmly. “I am not serving you subpar mulled wine, so you are just going to have to wait. Now sit down, you silly thing.”

Aziraphale obeyed, but found herself smirking. She’d _known_ that Crowley cared more than she let on.

“Solid movie choice, by the way,” Crowley said as she settled under a blanket next to Aziraphale, lifting one end in invitation. Aziraphale scooted closer, letting Crowley place the blanket over her lap.

“Yes?”

“Yeah. I like the main character. She’s hot. I wasn’t going to say anything, because she looks like you.”

Aziraphale was thankful they hadn’t begun on the wine, because she would have choked on it. “No she doesn’t. But, um, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I like the vampire woman, actually.”

Crowley raised her eyebrows. “Oh really?”

Aziraphale smiled, looking at the television. “Mmhm. Hey!” She felt the joy of an idea coming on. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we dressed up as them?”

“Are you suggesting roleplay?”

Aziraphale’s face went crimson. “N-no! I meant like for Halloween!”

“Mmm. Well just so you know, I _am_ open to roleplay."

Aziraphale looked steadfastly at the television and wrapped her arms around herself. “I am not ready to have this conversation with you.”

Crowley chuckled while picking up the remote casually. “Okay.” More shyly, she added, “I like your current outfit, anyways.”

Aziraphale softened. “Thank you.” She dared to reach for Crowley’s hand. Crowley took it. She relaxed into the feeling of Crowley thumb caressing her knuckles. She felt light and happy, the evening’s earlier anxieties entirely dissipated.

Crowley was right about the movie. There were several eyebrow raising fade to blacks, and the movie ended with the protagonist turning into a vampire and remaining at the mansion. 

Crowley was right about the wine, too. When Aziraphale finally got her hands on a steaming mug of perfectly mulled wine, it was absolutely delightful. The perfect blend of spicy and sweet- just like the woman who made it. Both of them were worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/)!


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